by Lelia Eye
On Wings
of Air
Earth and Sky Trilogy
Book One
By
Lelia Eye
&
Jann Rowland
One Good Sonnet Publishing
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters and events portrayed in this novel are products of the author’s imagination.
ON WINGS OF AIR
Copyright © 2015 Lelia Eye & Jann Rowland
Published by One Good Sonnet Publishing
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 1987929020
ISBN-13: 978-1987929027
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, digital, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
Table of Contents
Rebellion
Missing
Confined
Return
Seduction
Fall
Capture
Enslavement
Duties
Recapture
Agreement
Punishment
Recovery
Warning
Betrayal
Reconciliation
Understanding
History
Archery
Reminder
Stratagem
Escape
Skybound
Homecoming
Stars
Confrontation
Flight
Parting
Prodigal
Desperation
Water
Preparation
Muster
Fenik
Reappearance
Counterattack
Explanations
Excerpt from On Lonely Paths
For Readers Who Enjoy Pride and Prejudice
One Good Sonnet Publishing
Acknowledgements
About the Authors
PROLOGUE
Rebellion
It was a world. A world like any other, yet still no less miraculous for being one of countless others. A world lush and green, containing vast oceans, sprawling continents, pristine islands, raging rivers, and great fields of ice . . . a world that was dangerous, yet of a cold, heartless beauty. It was an existence which was new and extraordinary, clean and fresh. Within this world teemed all manner of life: majestic trees to tower over those beneath its branches, flowers to dazzle, grains to feed, weeds to choke and smother. The crowning glory of it all—moving creatures to tend, to dominate, and to marvel in the wonder of its perfection—had been placed upon the world at last, the greatest and final achievement, as was proper. Such creatures were necessary for balance and order. They would add splendor and glory.
It was a world much as the Malloch had seen any number of times before. But the beauty never faded; the wonder never ceased. It was simply a world, no more or less important than any other in existence. Yet it was achievement. It was creation.
But it was different. Forces moved upon the surface of this world in a way that was unique. The time for the parting had arrived, but there was no indication it would come to pass. The reason for such defiance seemed elusive, just beyond comprehension for a creature of duty such as a Malloch. And yet it was.
The Malloch dipped through the clouds, reveling in the feeling of greatness which surrounded the world. The mists rose up in fervent greeting, offering a gentle and tender caress. The world was good. It was right.
On top of the cloud ahead, a figure walked amid the swirling mists. Great things were afoot, yet this being appeared unconcerned, seemingly content to wander the skies without purpose. In the Malloch’s mind, a name welled up: Akeiro, most favored of servants and possessor of extraordinary gifts.
The Malloch would never approach an Akeiro with anything save the greatest of respect. There was an order to be observed, after all, and the Malloch was nothing more than a lesser servant.
But the command had been given, and the Malloch would obey.
The Malloch turned and made directly for the Akeiro, alighting upon part of the cloud a few yards away. Intelligent eyes—the deep blue of sapphires—watched as the Malloch came to rest. The Akeiro had certainly known the Malloch was approaching from the moment the Malloch had entered this world. The Malloch wondered how the Akeiro would respond to the words issued from on high.
“Hail, Akeiro, greatest of servants,” said the Malloch, bowing low in obeisance.
“Malloch,” was the return greeting, accompanied by nothing more than a slight incline of the head. There had seemed to be a slight tightening about the Akeiro’s eyes at the word “servants,” but the Malloch dismissed the thought. “How came you to be here? The time of the Malloch has ended.”
“I was bidden to return, and so I obey. The time of the Malloch has ended, but so too has the time of the Akeiro ended. Is it not so?”
The Akeiro’s eyes burned into the Malloch. But the scrutiny did not last more than a moment before the Akeiro shrugged and began once more to stroll over the clouds. The Malloch walked beside and a little behind the great servant, feeling no small measure of curiosity as to the reason for such reticence. Surely the Akeiro could not intend to persist with such defiance.
Nothing was said for many long moments as they walked. As far as the Malloch could see, the cloud was insignificant. It was transitory, fleeting, impermanent. There was nothing of interest. But an Akeiro would do as an Akeiro would, and it was not the Malloch’s place to question.
The two continued in this manner for several moments before the Akeiro came to the edge of the cloud and stopped to gaze on the world below.
“Tell me what you see, Malloch.”
Though surprised at such a command, the Malloch stepped forward and looked down. Below was a verdant landscape. To the north rose a set of tall mountains, their tops blanketed with thick layers of snow and ice. From those high peaks rose a series of hills which gradually flattened to plains stretching as far south as the eye could see. Throughout the land, the Malloch saw patches of the darker greens of woods; they were predominantly coniferous toward the mountains and surrendered to deciduous the further south that the eye roamed until, to the south and east, an especially great forest arose to cover the land. To the west was the beautiful view of the twinkling sunlight reflecting across the waves of a vast sea.
Once again, the Malloch was filled with a sense of rightness. It was good. It was balance. It was life.
“I see creation in all its wonder and glory,” said the Malloch. “I see the Great One’s hand in all things, as was meant to be.”
That last seemed to anger the Akeiro. “You see the hand of the Great One. I see what we have all created. The Great One does nothing more than sit and direct while we work.”
The Malloch turned toward the Akeiro and said, “The Great One is the source of all life. We may perform the work, but we are nothing more than adjuncts of power. Remember, the Great One created the two of us and the creatures on this world and every other world. You would still be nothing but dust had the Great One not deigned to form you and gift you with your life and power.”
“Spoken like a true drone.”
The words were filled with contempt, and the Malloch wondered at them. All were subject to the Great One’s will. Surely the Akeiro understood this.
“I mean to be more than that,” said the Akeiro. “This world is good, but it has been created by my hands. Should I not rule over it?”
/> “Rule over it?” asked the Malloch. “Why would one wish to rule over it?”
“Do you not crave power, Malloch? I could give you more than you can possibly imagine.”
“I have power enough to do what must be done.”
“So like the Malloch. Always dedicated to notions of duty and honor and not possessing an original thought of your own. I tell you I created this world. Dominion over it is mine!”
“Even if what you say is true, it was not created by you alone. The Malloch were all involved, and there is another as great as you who had a hand in it.”
A sneer met the Malloch’s words. “An Akeiro who rolls in the dust, yes. I am superior in all ways. And I shall prove it by claiming dominion over this world. I will control all. I shall have my due.”
“It is not done,” said the Malloch. “You know the rightful order. It is time to quit this place and fulfill our purpose elsewhere. You cannot think to upset the balance in such a manner. Do not test the Great One’s resolve.”
“I am not afraid. I shall not be harmed unless the Great One decides to destroy all life. But I do not foresee the annihilation of the work of our hands, the very reason for the Great One’s existence. The Great One is helpless, fettered by the restrictions which define the Great One’s purpose. The Great One cannot move against me . . . not without undoing all we have wrought.”
There was nothing to be done but to deliver the message and leave, as the Malloch had been bidden.
“Hear then, this warning, Akeiro, servant above all. You are commanded to leave your present disastrous course behind and depart this world. If you choose to disregard the Great One’s decree, then you shall pay the price. As you are now above all others, so you shall be brought down to become the least of all servants. So has the Great One decreed, and so shall it be done.”
“And know this,” said the Akeiro, eyes blazing in affront and anger, “I shall never forsake this place. It is mine, and so it shall remain mine.”
“It grieves me to see you resolute in this path,” said the Malloch, sorrowful at the disobedience of one who was above all. “Still, I shall carry your message. May the Great One have mercy upon you.”
But as the Malloch moved to leave, the chilling voice of the Akeiro sounded. “I think not, Malloch. I may have some use for you. You will not leave.”
The Malloch felt a measure of trepidation, but no true fear. “You may prevent me from leaving, Akeiro, but you are no match for the Great One. Remember that before you act.”
There was no response to the Malloch’s words but pain—pain such as the Malloch had never felt in millennia of existence. But with the pain, the Malloch felt the soothing presence of the Great One.
Even this was anticipated.
The seeds had been sown.
Celesta is.
Celesta is without end.
Celesta existed alone in the void. She created music and filled the void with song. But song is nothing without ears to hear.
Celesta spoke, and the void was alive with light and all manner of brilliant colors. But color is nothing without eyes to see.
Celesta was alone, and her heart cried out her desolation and loneliness. For there was no one to admire the majesty of her creation.
—The Book of Celesta
CHAPTER
ONE
Missing
“No, Your Highness. Guardsman Cirrus has not returned to the palace. And yes, I did speak with the Master Sentinel. As I said, your friend is still not back. No one—including the guards in the Cloud Sentinel—knows when he’ll return.”
Skye scowled. Though the servant before him showed the outward respect required of anyone interacting with a member of the royal family, there was an undercurrent of haughtiness in his manner which was irksome. Of course, Skychildren as a rule tended to be free-spirited, which made them somewhat poor servants, but there was no help for it. Who would fill the roles of servants if not Skychildren? Groundbreathers?
Snorting to himself at such a notion, Skye put that thought from his mind. While some of the powerless Groundwalkers were present and did act as servants and laborers and even filled other positions in the sky realm, they tended to feel rather uncomfortable at the thought of being several thousand feet above the earth, so they were not present in large numbers among the Skychildren. As for the Groundbreathers, they would never willingly agree to act as servants to the Skychildren . . . and would likely rather cut off their own arms than submit to their sworn enemies in such a way.
Gritting his teeth, Skye said, “Very well. You may go.”
The servant bowed and walked away, leaving the prince staring after him in irritation. In truth, Skye was well aware that he had not been easy to deal with the past few days, as his concern for Cirrus had caused his mood to fray. He was on edge, and that showed in all his interactions with others.
“Sweet Celesta,” Skye swore to himself. Perhaps it was not wise to use the goddess’s name in such a fashion, but he felt as frustrated as a hawk trapped in a cage. He hated not being able to do anything to solve the problem before him.
Sighing, Skye glanced about. He stood in his personal sitting room, which was decorated in the colors often preferred by his people. Furniture sat here and there in the room, arranged in a way that was comfortable yet aesthetically pleasing to its lone occupant. On one wall hung a painting of a skyscape painted by a true master of Skychild art—an image of a sunset dominated by pinks and reds, subtle shades of light green, and the mesmerizing blues of the deepest sky. Next to it hung a well-used bow—the first Skye had been given as a child. It was retired now, having become too old and worn to be used on a daily basis, and it stayed on the wall as a reminder of a simpler time . . . a time when Skye had thought of nothing but running about the palace, shooting his bow, reading his books, and flying his glider.
Since then, the needs of education and responsibility had intruded, chipping away at his youthful exuberance. He could not recapture those carefree days. An adult’s world was far more complex than a child’s, and he had duties he could not shirk. Right now, the most important of those duties was determining what had happened to his friend.
Skye shook his head at himself as he realized he had begun to pace the floor, though he could not remember rising. While his sitting room was large and spacious, it felt closed and confining. He could not think here.
With a heavy sigh, he left the room in search of a place more conducive to reflection.
The palace outside the royal apartments was a bustle of activity, with Sentinels patrolling the halls and servants seeing to their tasks with single-minded efficiency. Skye scarcely noticed them, however, as he was too caught up in his own concerns. Even the presence of an occasional lord and his retainers, visiting from other settlements in the sky realm, did not penetrate his thoughts.
Eager to leave the palace behind, Skye passed through the front gate and out into the landscape surrounding it. The sun was shining brightly that day, which was, of course, usually the case, as most clouds which produced rainfall tended to sit at lower elevations. The landscape was lush with green grass, though some of the produce which in part fed the population of the palace grew to the side of the great stone structure. To the other side, a town of some prominence was situated, home to those who worked in the palace and those whose industry supported and maintained the royal seat. About a hundred feet away from the front entrance of the palace, the grass thinned and then ceased growing altogether, and the fluffy white clouds took over.
The palace was many millennia old, and it was constructed of a dark gray rock that was pebbled with hints of whites, reds, and blues, the likes of which Skye had never seen anywhere else in the sky realm. When viewed from below, the sky palace appeared to be an enormous white cloud hovering in the sky. In reality, the structure sat upon a massive mountain with a relatively flat top and a cloudy mist which clung to the mountain’s bottom. Unlike the other pieces of the sky r
ealm, which tended to drift quite a bit, the sky palace only hovered within a fairly confined area.
Childish laughter drew Skye’s attention. He looked out past the fields to the side of the palace and saw several small boys racing each other in their gliders, their shouts of promised victory and squeals of laughter ringing through the air.
Gliders were an integral part of life in the sky realm. They were imbued with powers of air, allowing Skychildren to soar over the sky realm effortlessly. While all Skychildren could carry themselves in the wind without need of assistance, it was tiring to maintain such movement over long distances, so every Skychild owned at least one glider. Larger, more comfortable gliders were used for long-distance travel, and bigger barges transported goods between the various lands. There were even great vessels which traveled close to the surface of the sea to catch fish with large nets.
It would have been quite the idyllic life were it not for the stain of the Groundbreathers, whom the Skychildren assiduously avoided, even when fishing. While the powerless Groundwalkers were of no particular concern to the Skychildren, such was definitely not the case with the Groundbreathers. Saying that the two peoples did not get along was akin to saying that the thunderbirds were mildly ugly. Groundbreathers and Skychildren came to blows immediately when they saw each another, and the thunderbirds, though powerful protectors of Skychild royalty, were the most repulsive form of avian imaginable.
Skye’s thoughts flicked briefly to his mentor, who had always been filled with nothing but praise for the birds, and he growled to himself before walking forward to the edge of the clouds.
The clouds were solid beneath his feet—a byproduct of Skychild powers—and he could feel instinctively where the edge was. Beyond that point, the few wisps of mist which drifted out from the edge were no longer sufficient to hold him up, and he would have fallen to the ground below had he attempted to walk upon them. As a child, he had liked to step off the edge and go into a freefall before finally lifting himself upward with the wind. There was no reason to be afraid; none of the Skychildren could be hurt by a fall. It was one of the goddess’s gifts to her descendants.
